


Somewhere in Between

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Lies We Lead [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, First Date, M/M, Mentions of Paris, Mentions of childhood abuse, Sex Worker Clint, canon/au fusion, past Steve/Bucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Steve takes Clint on their first date.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Series: Lies We Lead [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518758
Comments: 19
Kudos: 142





	Somewhere in Between

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks so so much to Ro for everything but in particular the beta-reading.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It wasn’t the reaction Steve had expected. Sure as hell wasn’t on the - admittedly short - list of responses he had hoped for.

But Clint was standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his puffy purple coat, cheeks and nose pink and bright eyes narrowed and gold hair hidden by a black beanie.

He looked adorable. And disgruntled. Kind of like an angry cat, now that Steve thought about it. Especially with the way his ridiculous coat added girth. Definitely an angry cat.

“Uh, no?” Steve tried.

Clint looked from Steve to the ice, back to Steve, and then the ice again.

“I… didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about ice skating,” Steve said, trying to sound neutral.

He clearly failed, because Clint’s glare was immediately back on Steve, eyes softening even if his cold-flushed face remained scrunched up.

“Never came up. Not your fault,” Clint sighed. He shifted awkwardly, reached up to run a hand through his hair, and then scowled some more when he realized his knit cap was in the way.

“We can do something else,” Steve said. “It’s-”

“Fell through the ice, when I was a kid,” Clint said in a rush, talking over Steve. “Me and Barney - my brother - were skating on the pond by the house. I fell through the ice. Almost died, but Barney saved me. Then Dad beat the shit out of both of us after. Barney earned a broken arm. Me, I got two broken ribs and lost sixty percent of my hearing in this ear,” Clint tapped his left ear, hidden by the cap. He gave Steve a twisted, ugly smile. “I hate ice skating.”

Steve found himself nodding, had no idea what the fuck else he  _ could _ do. 

It- That-

Fuck.

It was only three days after Tony’s thing, after New York, after their awkward shared confession and a night spent in Steve’s apartment at the Tower, curled together and fucking like it was the first time all over again - a bit rushed, a lot of laughter and smiles and accidental (okay, maybe a few on purpose) tickles.

Steve had asked, the next morning, over coffee and unable to keep his eyes off Clint, sleep-rumpled and gorgeous and  _ soft _ in a way that Steve had only ever dreamed of. 

Steve had asked, and Clint had smiled into his coffee, cheeks pink, and said yeah, sure, they should try going on a date.

And now, here they were. Already crashing and burning.

Steve felt his lips twist.

It was… weird? Fucking awful? Predictable?  _ Something _ , anyway, that Clint had just revealed more about himself in one angry, rushed confession than he had in more than a year of… their other thing.

Steve had never known Clint had a brother. Never known that he was partially deaf. Never known… never known anything, really.

Olympian. Brother. Survivor. 

Steve wondered where the brother - and father - were now. Wondered if the father was in prison. Wondered if he could abuse his position as Captain America to put the man there.

Beside him, Clint heaved a sigh.

“Fuck it,” he growled, and held out his hand to Steve.

Steve stared down at it for maybe a solid minute, long enough to see that Clint’s leather gloves had little arrows stitched into them over the backs of his hands.

Clint waggled his fingers, and Steve looked back up at his face.

“C’mon. If I’m gonna do this shit, you’re gonna hold my hand.”

“I- You don’t- We don’t-”

Clint raised an eyebrow at him, one corner of his mouth lifting as well.

“Don’t tell me Captain America doesn’t want to be seen holding hands with his boyfriend in public. ‘Sides, it’s ten in the morning on a Tuesday. There’s hardly anyone here.”

Steve had suggested the date without really thinking about it, without considering that Clint’s job meant all of his nights, all of his weekends, most of his afternoons were taken. Which left the mornings. Which left Steve’s gut churning with guilt and shame as he called his SHIELD liaison/team member, Brock Rumlow, that he wouldn’t be in on Tuesday until the afternoon.

Steve sucked in a cold breath and grabbed Clint’s hand before he could pull it away.

“Didn’t realize we were boyfriends,” Steve said. “This is just our first date - you think we’re already going steady?”

Clint rolled his eyes, but his expression softened a bit more, his fingers squeezed Steve’s, and the smile on his lips wasn’t forced.

“You even know how to ice skate?” Clint grumbled as they got into line to rent skates.

Steve did, because Bucky had taught him. Back in ‘40, when Bucky had worked as a waiter at some upscale restaurant in Manhattan and came home every night grinning, pockets full from tips and collar smelling like whiskey and a blend of perfume and cologne, and it made Steve so insanely jealous to think of rich people all over Bucky, offering him extra money for a few ‘extras’ that weren’t on the menu at the fancy restaurant.

But the money had been good, and that meant rent paid and new winter coats and  _ food _ and- and Bucky taking Steve out to the ice rink at Prospect Park and holding him as they stumbled together over the ice, as they went round and round for hours, hands clutched and bodies pressed close in the only possible place and activity two men could get away with it. 

Shit.

This  _ had _ been a bad idea.

But Steve had never learned how to back down, and besides that, Clint was soon enough strapping on his skates and glaring at them like they were his enemy, and- and Steve wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to back down.

They were both uneasy on their feet,  _ clumsy _ in a way Steve had never seen Clint and a way he hadn’t felt in this body since… since maybe ever.

It meant that Clint’s hand in his gripped him on the bad side of painful, meant they were lapped  _ three times _ by a kid in bright green everything who was maybe as tall as Steve’s knees, meant their shoulders and feet knocked together constantly, meant Steve got to hear Clint’s impressively filthy vocabulary used in an entirely new context - which also meant Steve had to try to think of icy water and the  _ Valkyrie _ going down, because he was  _ not _ going to get a hard-on while ice skating with a fuming, angry-puffy Clint. Just because hearing Clint growl “ _ shit fucking Christ _ ” elicited some kind of Pavlovian response in Steve that made him think of crisp sheets and Clint’s wrists tied together and Steve’s tongue in his ass and-

Ice. Freezing water. Certain (or not) death. 

It was probably inevitable - probably shocking only because it took thirty minutes to happen - but they tripped over each other and ended up sprawled on the ice, Clint half on top of Steve, both breathless and-

And Clint laughed down at him, eyes bright, cheeks red now with the cold, lips dark and curved up.

Steve groaned and wrapped his arms around Clint, held him tight while the dozen or so other morning skaters gave them a wide berth - something they’d already been doing, even when Clint and Steve were on their feet.

Clint leaned down, pressed his cold lips to Steve’s in a brief, barely there kiss and then pulled away, helped Steve up, and they kept going. Managed another fifteen minutes before Steve tugged Clint off the ice and towards the little cafe that served hot beverages.

Back in real shoes, steaming cups of hot chocolate in both their hands, Clint and Steve hunched over a cafe table and tangled their legs and feet together under the table.

Clint was still smiling - soft, barely there - but he’d been wearing that expression ever since they tumbled down onto the ice together.

“So, uh,” Clint mumbled into his cup, eyes cutting away from Steve, “I don’t- I haven’t really… It’s been awhile since I did this whole… dating thing.”

“Oh,” was all Steve could say.

It earned him an eyeroll.

“It’s… With my… With work, you know? What I am… Not a lot of folks even want to…”

“What you  _ do _ ,” Steve corrected.

Clint snorted a laugh and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? Captain America?”

Which… ouch. But, well, Steve could see what Clint was saying. But also.

“You know that’s not me,” he said.

Clint all but melted. He let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I- Fuck, Steve, I  _ know _ that’s not you. I- But this is, I’m… This is what I  _ do _ , man.”

Steve nodded, made himself shrug and take another sip of his hot chocolate.

“Been awhile since I was on a date, too,” he said, trying to steer them away from what Steve was pretty sure was Clint trying to cut and run before they had even really started.

Clint frowned, clearly debated whether or not to take the bait, but eventually did.

“How long?” Clint asked.

Steve shrugged.

“A few years.”

Clint gave him an unimpressed look.

“A few years ago, you were still an ice pop.”

“August, 1944,” Steve admitted.

Clint’s eyes narrowed, his thinking face on, which Steve always loved but had never - and probably would never - admit. The little furrow between Clint’s brows, the way his lips pursed, the way he looked a little irritated that his brain didn’t immediately tell him what he wanted to know. It was adorable. A lot of Clint was adorable. And Steve knew Clint well enough to know that  _ adorable _ was not his favorite thing to be called.

“Paris?” Clint asked after a moment, because apparently Steve’s history was the fodder of school books and movies and comics, and the American public knew a hell of a lot more about Steve’s past than Steve would have thought possible.

But Clint was right, and Clint was… Clint.

So Steve nodded.

“Few days after the liberation. We - the Howlies - we were there for some of it, at the end.”

Clint grinned at him.

“So you, what, had a night out on the town burning Nazi flags and strolling down the avenues?”

Steve snorted, because Clint was joking, but he also wasn’t that far off from the truth.

“Bucky and I-” Steve hesitated, because he’d confessed it all to Clint months ago, one night while they sat in the hotel bathtub together and Steve held Clint against his chest and whispered into his hair, but telling Clint about him and Bucky  _ before _ was one thing - talking about him now that they were… this, whatever this was… Was that okay?

But Clint nodded encouragingly at him, so Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and carried on.

“We went out after curfew-”

“Not like anyone is gonna question Captain America,” Clint put in, and Steve nodded.

“That’s what Bucky said, too. And he- You- Both of you were right. Went to the Eiffel Tower, and I swear to god, Bucky talked the guards into letting us by, and I still don’t know what he said but no one would even  _ look _ at me, and…”

“Oh my god. Did you two watch the fucking sunset from the Eiffel Tower?” Clint demanded.

“Sunrise,” Steve corrected, glad for the cold, because it probably, maybe, hopefully covered up his blushing cheeks. “Bucky had some fruit and some chocolate - no idea where he got them from or  _ how _ .”

“His face is how,” Clint snorted a laugh. “I’ve only seen photos and a few of those news reels - but no one in their right mind coulda said no to that face.”

Which… was very, very true.

So Steve nodded in agreement.

“So we… watched the sunrise together.”

“Over fruit and chocolate and Nazi defeat,” Clint summarized, voice sounding a little dreamy, and Steve didn’t know if Clint was making fun of him or not.

But then Clint shook his head and turned away, eyes glaring at the ice rink.

“And then I go and throw a fucking fit over ice skating.” Clint huffed a bitter laugh. “Nice work, Barton.”

“No, it’s not-”

“I know I can’t compete with that - with him,” Clint said, and his smile cut deep into Steve, “but, uh, I’m an asshole, Steve. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Steve. You… you deserve a fucking lot better than me.”

Steve felt his throat get tight, felt his entire body tense, and- 

And this  _ wasn’t _ the way this was supposed to go.

“But I want you,” Steve said. “Clint, I want  _ you _ .”

It took a minute, but Clint looked up at Steve, met his eyes and saw something in them that kept him from taking off.

He sighed. Reached out and took Steve’s hand.

“You’re an idiot, Rogers.”

Steve held tight to Clint’s gloved hand, couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Your idiot,” he said, a little hopeful and not at all trying to hide it.

Clint’s grin was bright, nearly blinding.

“Looks like,” he agreed.

-o-

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking maybe one more before Bucky comes back into play. Or in to play. Haha.


End file.
